The memory was still a blank, but Ji Se-min couldn’t help thinking—was there really anyone who could tell him how to stop feeling all the emotions and sensations the original Cha-hyeon used to experience when he looked at Se-min?
“……”
Shit. He hadn’t expected things to actually come true just by saying them out loud.
Cha-hyeon, once again pretending he wasn’t someone whose two selves had just collided, swept a hand over his aching chest.
“…It’s nothing.”
Still dazed by the beauty’s charm, Se-min looked briefly confused, but then gave a soft, deliberate cough and nodded.
“And… about you not getting your memories back. I think we should talk about that too. I’m not totally convinced staying out of dungeons is enough to avoid it.”
Maybe it was because that first Unclaimed Reward had been so dramatic, so intense. Not only had Cha-hyeon gone through dungeon after dungeon without a word, but then suddenly, the fully remembered Cha-hyeon had come back out of nowhere. That was why Se-min had clung to the theory that Unclaimed Rewards were tied to clearing certain dungeons.
And there was solid evidence. According to Cha-hyeon, when the first Unclaimed Reward notification appeared, the content was just a question mark. When he entered a dungeon, it changed into actual text.
After that, the first reward was granted. It only made sense to conclude that the reward was linked to dungeon progression. Especially since, typically, clearing a dungeon always came with item drops—it was only natural to fall into that kind of fixed assumption.
Clear a dungeon, get a reward—whatever form that reward might take.
But just because a theory seemed the most plausible didn’t mean it was definitely correct.
Cha-hyeon’s second Unclaimed Reward hadn’t come in a dungeon at all. It had happened in a hotel room—completely unrelated. If it were a delayed reward from the previous dungeon, the timing and circumstances didn’t line up. Nothing explained it.
So Se-min retraced the first reward again.
According to Cha-hyeon’s logic—that the status window only activates inside dungeons—he’d entered one just to check. And when he did, the question mark had changed into actual words.
But wouldn’t the reward have been granted right away?
Se-min didn’t know exactly when the question mark had changed, but if it had turned into text at some point during their three dungeon runs, shouldn’t the reward have triggered then and there?
The first reward had come when Cha-hyeon, after clearing a Gate, had spent some time talking with Se-min—and then it suddenly happened. So maybe the second reward was a delayed one for the dungeon where Se-min had recently been taken hostage, but…
What if Cha-hyeon’s Unclaimed Rewards weren’t dungeon-related at all? What if they were being triggered by something completely new—something no one had imagined?
Smack.
While Se-min was lost in thought, soft lips brushed his cheek. The sensation jolted him back to the present, and he flinched in surprise, staring at Cha-hyeon.
Their eyes met, and Cha-hyeon smiled at him—bright, innocent, like a child. It was rare to see him look so genuinely happy, and Se-min was caught off guard.
“…Why?”
“No reason. I’m just happy.”
That tender, sincere reply made Se-min’s cheeks flush with heat. Seeing how flustered he was, Cha-hyeon pressed another kiss to his cheek. Se-min’s mind, which had been caught up in theories, quickly turned soft and hazy.
He let himself relax, letting his weight lean against Cha-hyeon. A faint chuckle sounded close to his ear, making it tingle like wind brushing past. Se-min, still ticklish and a bit embarrassed, responded in an intentionally stiff tone.
“…Sure.”
As he listened to Cha-hyeon’s deepening laughter, Se-min found himself wondering: Do I have a habit of giving blunt answers when I’m embarrassed? Cheeks puffed with bashful frustration, he hurried to steer the conversation back.
“Anyway. I don’t think the Unclaimed Reward came from dungeon clearing. I think it came from something else entirely. We shouldn’t be the only ones trying to figure it out. We should tell Deputy Chief Jeong too—”
“That’s strange.”
Cha-hyeon said as he gently ran his fingers through Se-min’s hair. Se-min’s soft gaze flicked upward. Those long, distinct fingers began to playfully twist strands of his hair.
“Was it really this simple all along?”
The tone of his voice sounded somewhere between relieved and regretful. Se-min couldn’t help but agree. Now that he knew what Cha-hyeon had been hiding in his heart, the thing he’d been so desperate to avoid—recovering his memories—had unraveled far more easily than anyone had expected.
“Yeah… it kind of was.”
Se-min nodded quietly. He hadn’t expected himself to come to terms with Cha-hyeon never getting his memories back this quickly either.
Of course, a big part of that was because his partner had been so afraid—convinced that if the memories returned, his current self would vanish completely.
“The future matters more than the past.”
Se-min murmured, like a quiet resolution to himself. Cha-hyeon’s fingers stopped moving. Se-min’s gaze drifted up again. Turning his head slightly, he saw Cha-hyeon watching him intently, scanning every inch of his face as if trying to read what he truly meant. Once he seemed to understand, he asked quietly:
“Are you disappointed?”
Se-min’s eyelids twitched ever so slightly. That subtle reaction was more than enough for Cha-hyeon to notice. Se-min turned his head back naturally, avoiding the gaze, and worked his lips before answering.
“…If I said no, that’d be a lie.”
A sheepish smile tugged at his lips, and he exhaled slowly through his nose. Honestly, not feeling any regret at all—that would’ve been the lie.
Se-min had feared what might happen if Cha-hyeon’s memories came back too. He was terrified that the title they once held—“like family,” “like brothers”—would disappear, and they’d be left in some awkward, undefined relationship.
But…
“You’ve only forgotten the parts related to me. The memories about us. So… it’s not that uncomfortable for you, right?”
Cha-hyeon didn’t respond, but the slight lift of his brow said enough. Se-min figured as much. A bitter smile crept onto his face.
“But for me, it’s like I lost almost twenty years of memories with you.”
From childhood, to elementary school, to adolescence, and all the way into adulthood—Se-min’s life had always revolved around Cha-hyeon.
His tastes, his personality, the foods and colors he liked, his eating habits, the way he spoke, his gestures, his facial expressions, his boundaries—what he could or couldn’t forgive… Even just mentioning a single word could spark a shared memory that made them both laugh.
When you live together like family, you grow and learn from each other. So much of who Se-min was had been shaped by Cha-hyeon, whether directly or not.
And now, one of them had forgotten all of it. Of course it left a hole. Of course it felt empty. Cha-hyeon could no longer share those memories. He couldn’t reminisce with him anymore.
It made sense to look ahead, to dream of a future with a partner who had chosen not to reclaim his past. But… the longing remained.
“…Still. It’s not like I have a choice. I feel a little restless right now, but… I think I’ll be okay soon.”
Se-min turned his head back toward Cha-hyeon and smiled. Again, Cha-hyeon’s expression filled with two conflicting emotions at once.
Joy—pure and overflowing—because of how much Se-min was willing to give. And guilt—hesitant and aching—because of how much he’d asked him to give up.
It was almost fascinating how such opposite feelings could exist at the same time in one person.
Well… in the end, Cha-hyeon hadn’t sacrificed anything. He’d gotten everything he wanted. No wonder he looked happy. Just as Se-min turned his head away again, just slightly bitter—
Ding!
※ Notification ※
You have an unclaimed special reward.
Would you like to claim it now?
“…Huh?”
A stunned breath escaped Se-min’s lips as his eyes locked onto the empty air. What… the hell?
Would you like to claim it now?
“…Se-min. I…”
Cha-hyeon’s voice sounded from behind, his arms wrapped tightly around Se-min. But Se-min didn’t hear whether he was reluctantly trying to say thank you or expressing genuine gratitude.
Because something supernatural had just happened—and it stole all his attention. Cha-hyeon’s voice sounded like background noise, like it was drifting in one ear and out the other.
“…For everything you’ve… done… I’ll do better…”
Se-min blinked blankly. Can’t he see this? Why was there… a glowing blue window floating in midair?
Would you like to claim it now?
Thanks to Cha-hyeon’s extreme overprotection, Se-min, though a Guide, barely knew anything about the Awakened world. So it took him a while to realize what the translucent blue screen was.
Claiming special reward automatically.
.
.
.
You have received a special linked reward related to ☆？Å╁¿▒○(Έρωτας και ψυχή).
“…Hyung.”
Even his own voice sounded distant in his ears. Still stunned, Se-min pointed toward the status window—visible only to Awakened.
“But… it says I just received a special reward…?”
Only after he said it aloud did he realize something had actually happened.
Huh? Se-min let out another dazed sound and looked at his activated status window.
You have received the linked special reward.
Cha-hyeon, who’d been watching him with a puzzled look, began to visibly stiffen. His pupils narrowed into slits, focused on the seemingly empty space in front of him. But unlike Cha-hyeon, Se-min could see the contents of the translucent blue window clearly.
Your deepest wish will now be granted.
